


No Harm Done

by neversaydie



Series: All My Own Stunts [1]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Clint Barton, Bipolar Disorder, Clint and Natasha are Bros, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Graphic Violence, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1604402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neversaydie/pseuds/neversaydie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As it turns out, Clint's first mission back in the field isn't with the Avengers.</p><p>In the year since he'd woken up in the hospital, things have improved.</p><p>(This is the start of the sequel to the Somewhat Damaged series.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Harm Done

**Author's Note:**

> Remember the Somewhat Damaged series? Well, this series is the next chapter in Clint and Phil's life together. 
> 
> I hope some of the people who read that series are still interested in this 'verse. I'm sorry it took so long to put together a sequel.
> 
> (It's actually exactly a year to the day when the last series ended, which is a nice coincidence.)

As it turns out, Clint's first mission back in the field isn't with the Avengers.

They need eyes on kidnapping case. A Russian diplomat's child has been snatched in Washington by a gangster known to SHIELD. Natasha has already infiltrated the inner circle of the mob by posing as the niece of another mobster (a SHIELD mole). She'd quickly been assigned to look after the little boy because she spoke 'some' Russian.

Clint's brief is to observe the child when Natasha isn't there, so SHIELD can get an accurate picture of the kidnappers' routines and find the safest moment to retrieve the hostage. It's day-one stuff. He feels kind of insulted just sitting there.

The world's greatest marksman on a babysitting job.

Despite his boredom, Clint doesn't envy Natasha's role in this job. Deep cover was extremely stressful, even when it didn't have to be maintained 24/7. The challenge of creating a character and retrieving information was something Clint used to relish, before his swings had deteriorated to where he couldn't guarantee he'd be able to behave appropriately and had to pull out of such jobs altogether. It's easier to observe from afar and make objective calls, these days.

Three days of sitting on rooftops in the pouring rain later, and he's beginning to rethink his opinion.

"This is the fourth time I've seen him slap this kid."

He mutters the comment quietly, knowing it'll still be picked up by his earpiece over the wind whipping roughly around him. It's getting into the late evening now, and Clint's hunkering down for another night shift in the shitty weather that's pushing his already over-stretched patience.

Adessi, the main asshole, leans closer to the boy, obviously trying to intimidate him as the kid cries harder. Clint's fingers itch for his bow (or gun or a knife or whatever, Jeez) as the burly man pulls back and slaps the boy across the face again, frustrated with the lack of information he can get out of him (out of a fucking six year old, Clint thinks, come the fuck on).

"Five now. Come _on_ , Coulson. What the fuck are you guys doing?"

"Working on it, Agent Barton."

Phil's insisted on being Clint's handler for the mission, despite the fact that he almost exclusively works Avengers cases after the Battle of New York. When he'd informed them he'd be making an exception in this case, Clint had rolled his eyes while Tony made old-married cracks and Bruce snickered, but now he's glad his partner's here. They don't find it difficult to switch their relationship into professional mode, that was how they'd started out anyway, but Clint finds it more reassuring to hear Phil's voice over the comm than any other handler.

In the year since they'd clung to each other above New York and promised to make their relationship work, things have improved.

There wasn't a switch to flip when it came to Clint's illness, no magic solution whatever their good intentions. Being open about things helps, as did taking Clint completely out of SHIELD treatment and finding a doctor who focused on _him_ , rather than getting him back to work. Clint still has bad days, but his swings are less severe and don't last as long now that he's on a combination of meds that work. He'd even re-qualified for field work much faster than expected: this is a trial run back on active service.

Just his luck, it _had_ to be a job like this.

Jobs like this make him especially grateful for Phil's presence in the field. Phil would understand how difficult it is for him to keep his eyes open as every blow lands on the little boy's cheek, how much self-control he's exercising to keep from blowing the mark's brains out and grabbing the kid back himself. Phil understands both how Clint manages to remain professional on the job, and how much doing so takes out of him.

Phil understands. That's what matters.

"He's making a phone call."

Clint breaks out his binoculars and zooms in as Adessi dialls. He starts to read the numbers out to Coulson before he realises where he's calling.

"Calling the parents. Ransom?"

"There hasn't been any previous contact."

He can hear Phil talking to Agents on the other end of the line, the conversation muffled until he speaks into the mic again.

"Layout and personnel?"

"Adessi and Polizi junior. Polizi's by the door, Adessi by the North window with the kid on a chair. Two guards outside, didn't get a good enough visual to confirm ID. Neither of them are our guy, though. You have ears, or d'you want me to lipread?"

"We have ears."

Clint waits.

This isn't like being with the Avengers. He doesn't make decisions here, he's not part of the team. He's a weapon, a tool. He isn't privy to information beyond the facts of the case, he doesn't make value judgements or calls. He's told what he needs to know and does as he's ordered without thinking. That's how this works here. It's almost like coming home.

As usual, everything happens very fast.

Clint takes the shot the same second the command leaves Coulson's mouth. He remains in his position just long enough to see Adessi go down, glass shattering and undoing any advantage that the silence of his arrows provides.

"Secure the hostage. Widow's on route."

"Copy."

He waits until he's through the window before pinning the second man to the wall with an arrow through the shoulder (flesh wound, SHIELD won't write him up for unnecessary force) and swiftly knocking him out. Adrenaline sharp in his veins and head clear, Clint hasn't felt this alive for months. He takes half a second to let out a huff of surprised laughter before getting back to the job at hand.

This is the hardest part. Killing people is easy, dealing with screaming children isn't.

"Hey, it's alright kid, it's alright. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Nyet! Mama!"

"Ty v bezo… pasnosti." _You're safe._

Clint's broken Russian stops the kid from screaming for his mother, at least. He doesn't know if he's being understood, but the wide eyes watching him are beginning to hold more confusion than fear. That's probably a good sign. He crouches down to put himself on a level with the boy, holding up his hands as non-threateningly as he can manage with a bow over one arm.

"Ya khoroshiy paren'." _I'm a good guy_.

Luckily the Russian he's cribbed from Natasha is pretty much only appropriate for on the job work. He can't ask where the bathroom is, but he can tell someone if he's going to kill them or not.

"Vy ne budet bol'no." _You won't be hurt._

"Gde bol'shoy chelovek?" _Where's the big man?_

"On ushel." _He's gone._

The little boy nods, eyes wide and filled with tears but his little jaw set. For some reason, Clint feels a swell of pride in his chest. The kid's brave, he'll give him that.

"Hawkeye, report."

"Hostage secure, sir."

Clint touches his earpiece unnecessarily when he talks, just to show the little boy that he's talking to someone else. He doesn't want the kid to get freaked out again when he's just calmed him down.

The door behind them opens suddenly, and Clint's back in a firing stance before he blinks at the blur of red hair and stops. The boy's shriek confirms who it is.

"Natka!"

"Pteechka."

Natasha scoops the boy up into her arms as soon as she enters with her concealed carry drawn. She holds him tightly and murmurs comforting foreign words to him as she scans the room. Clint nods that they're secure, meeting her eyes to confirm.

"My ears fell out back in the hall." She explains. "What's the situation?"

"We're fine. Coulson's downstairs with the rest and the parents are in a car down the street. We just need to bring him out."

The kid, confidence apparently restored, is now speaking in a stream of rapid-fire Russian to Natasha that Clint has no hope of keeping up with. Natasha cracks a smile and Clint raises an eyebrow in question, she never smiles in the field.

"He wants to know if the scary man is my boyfriend."

"Scary man, huh?" He smiles himself, although it's a little forced. There's no denying he _is_ the scary man in this situation, but he hates to frighten kids. "What did you tell him?"

"I said you're my stupid brother." She punches him in the arm as he gets to his feet. "Come on, let's wrap this up and get him home."

"Yes ma'am." Clint salutes her with the little two finger brow flick he usually uses to piss off Cap. Natasha rolls her eyes.

It is like coming home.

He grabs his arrow from the shoulder he'd left it in on the way out, no use wasting equipment.

Oddly, Clint has a bubble of apprehension in his chest like doesn't want the mission to end. Even when he sees Phil smiling at him in front of the police cordon on the street, he feels like things went too smoothly, like he's not ready for the adrenaline to wear off yet.

It's just because he hasn't been in the field for so long, he figures. It'll wear off in a little while.

*

Later on, locked in a bathroom stall at SHIELD before debrief, Clint punches himself until his arms are black and blue and aching down to the bone.

It's before medical sees him, so he can write everything off as on the job injuries, a precaution he hasn't thought about taking for a long time. Despite the planning to not get caught, it's not a calculated decision to punch hell out of himself. He doesn't really understand why he's doing it, he just needs to, driven by a fiercer burning in his chest than he's felt for a long time.

He'd felt alive back there. For a few moments, he'd felt like himself again. The way he was before all this shit, before the pills and the therapy and being grounded and useless for months.

He flushes his day's dose of medication, ignoring all the skills he's been working on to deal with his impulsive decisions and not giving himself time to think. It's just the once, he just wants the adrenaline to carry on prickling in his veins for a little bit longer.

It's just a one-time thing. No harm done.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you're interested in this series continuing! Thanks for reading.


End file.
